


Bloodshot

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Romance, Blood, Blood and Gore, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Gore, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a battle with what seemed like a never-ending stream of ogres, you sink down to rest against the side of a rock formation for a few minutes. Jack kicks you in the gut. You grunt in pain and clutch your stomach as Terezi's words ring in your ears. The blow is a spark to the slowly-accumulated caliginous fuel that's pooled in you as you've grown to both admire and resent him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodshot

“I don't trust him,” Terezi told you. But of course she wouldn't. She was skeptical of everything; she relied on her schizophrenic nose and assumed everything was a web of deceit, an ocean of ulterior motives many miles deep. Spending too much time with Vriska, too much time playing make-believe, too much time pretending to be a great investigator, would do that to someone. It annoyed you, that she'd doubt him. You dismissed her.

Maybe you shouldn't have. But you did, and everything has supported you since then, hadn't it? The scheme to kill of the Black Queen is taking longer than intended, but in the meantime, Jack's invaluable. You're effective with your sickle, but effective doesn’t even come close to describing Jack. Jack is deadly. Deadly, and nothing less. For someone like that, the occasional stab isn't a threat or anything less than a gesture of love, really. If Jack wanted to hurt you, you'd be dead.

He shows no mercy or hesitation, and you envy that. He craves combat even when you just want to return to your recuperacoon and shut your eyes for a few hours. He reminds you that you're in this game to win, and to kill, not to sleep and lounge around like some wiggler.

If he notices your admiration for him, he doesn't show it. Terezi refuses to join you while you're with him, and Gamzee eventually falls behind, wanting more time to rest and enjoy some slime pie. You miss him at first, but Gamzee's a friend, not a role model. Not an almost lusus-like companion, with strange demands but ready to protect you from anything and teaching you new tricks to fuck up anyone who gets in your way. Gamzee's someone you want to hang out with, not someone you want to emulate.

As the days go by with less downtime than you'd like, you start to resent Jack for pushing you so hard. You snap at Terezi and she goes three days without talking to you. You blame Jack, though that's probably not fair. When you mention it, he tells you to stop getting worked up over some girl. He doesn't understand.

But he understands you, better than your friends could. He knows your secret; he's seen your blood ,and his is the same. Who else can you trust with that? Who else really wouldn't give a shit, and treat you the same as before?

After a battle with what seemed like a never-ending stream of ogres, you sink down to rest against the side of a rock formation for a few minutes. Jack kicks you in the gut. You grunt in pain and clutch your stomach as Terezi's words ring in your ears. The blow is a spark to the slowly-accumulated caliginous fuel that's pooled in you as you've grown to both admire and resent him.

You envy him, you despise him, you _hate_ him, and he's not even your species, he's not your age, he's nothing like what you should want but you don't _care_ because you're pulling yourself to your feet and lunging for him. You grab his shiny black face and thrust your lips against his. To your shock, he doesn't push you off but kisses you back with more teeth than you had ever thought possible.

In the perhaps ten seconds the kiss lasts, he downright mauls your bottom lip, sucking fresh blood straight from the source until the pain is so fiery you can't take it any more. You stagger backwards pressing a hand against your shredded mouth. Pale red tears stream down your cheeks and your heart's racing faster than a hoofbeast, powered more by fear than by lust, but lust's what got you into this in the first place so you can't deny its role. Jack laughs, licking the last of your blood off his own lips with his slender tongue. You feel your cheeks redden, embarrassed for crying when this was your fault.

It was your fault. You got yourself in over your head, so you can't blame Jack when your lip is sore for days, with thick, uncomfortable scabs forming and breaking and reforming on the sensitive flesh. You have only yourself to blame when it happens again, more than once, him forcing kisses that feel like they're made entirely of razors onto your lips, your neck, your ears. You like it, and it sets your blood on fire with a masochistic appreciation for his attention, that he somehow returns your miserable pitch attractions. You're not a worthy rival and you know it, so all you can do is steady yourself and pretend you are the best you can.

Two weeks later, he tells you there's been a change of plans. You ask what he means by that. He says you aren't strong enough to win the game yet, even with his help, because you're pathetic. You grit your teeth and ask him what more he wants out of you. You don't tell him that you feel worn thinner than paper, that the harder you try the weaker you feel, that you just want a day to recover without him pushing you. He tells you that you need to hit god tier. You can't argue with that.

With his help, it only takes a day of searching to make it up the treacherous, rocky slope to the precipice. Your quest bed is the hideous brown color of your own scabs, with the blood symbol etched into the stone slab. You climb onto it, sickle clenched in your hand so tightly that your knuckles hurt. You raise your rainbow-striped weapon, knowing what you have to do, contemplating the fastest and least painful method.

Jack tells you to hurry up and do it already, or he'll do it for you You snap that you need a moment and then you'll do it. He tells you that he hates wasting time, and that's exactly what you're doing. You tell him to shut up because you're so fucking sick of him telling you what to do, to do it always do it faster, be stronger, get better.

He narrows his eyes. You know you've made a mistake even before he raises his hand and slaps you so hard that you feel your jaw crack. He's never hit you that hard before, and moisture wells up in the corners of your eyes. It doesn't matter, you remind yourself, because you'll be dead in a moment anyway,

You don't bother to cower as Jack lifts his dagger, anticipating a stab to the gut and quick end to this bullshit. But he doesn't swoop in right away, instead grabbing your right wrist and pulling your arm out to the side. His grip is steel and you ineffectually claw at him with your left hand while he raises his knife. He tells you that if you can't use your weapon you might as well not have your fucking arm.

Your world explodes with pain and you see nothing but red when his knife comes down. It's not instantaneous. He saws through your flesh, your elbow, your _arm, your fucking arm_ , cracking the bone, severing arteries and tendons and letting dead flesh fall to the blood-watered ground beside your quest bed.

You scream and scream and scream but you can't even feel the burn of your throat with the blinding agony that is your fucking goddamn motherfucking shit arm being gone, _fucking cut off,_ and Jack is pressing the knife against your throat now and every fiber of your being hopes he will just slit your throat and finish it already.

He grabs your hair, yanking your face closer. You feel cold lips against yours and your neck begins to burn as he digs his knife in and pulls so very, horribly slowly. It's only seconds but it feels like an eternity of _suffering._

When you awake, the pain is gone. You can feel your arms as you experimentally raise and lower them. Good as new. What just happened is just a hazy memory of pain for several welcome moments, indistinct and distant in your mind - until you see Jack below you, grinning, splattered with candy apple red. Your stomach twists and your arm tingles, despite you knowing that you're physically restored to unblemished wholeness.

You remind yourself that you're being stupid. You're god tier now; Jack helped you achieve something that will greatly improve your chances at winning the game, not to mention it’s an accomplishment very few of your peers have earned. Maybe he was right; you were too weak and you would have failed to finish the job yourself.

That's what you tell Terezi when she gets back in touch. You're fine. Hell, even Jack's stabs will heal near-instantly now, seeing as they are neither a just nor brave way to bleed to death. But Terezi doesn't even seem happy about you reaching god tier and you feel sick listening to her because part of you thinks she might be right when she tells you he's cruel and using you and that this isn't what friends do.

Jack sticks his dagger into your side and the burning pain flares all along the left side of your body. You think he's just going to start using that as a way to get your attention, now that you're practically immortal. You wince and tell Terezi you'll talk to her later, shutting your hivetop quickly and pulling yourself to your feet. You don't like it, but you're not stupid enough to tell Jack to cut this shit out. You just keep moving.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Lose the halo, don't need to resist_  
>  _I lick on my lips, and I grip on your hips_  
>  \- Sick, Sick, Sick, Queens of the Stone Age


End file.
